


Love is Old, Love is New

by LateStarter58



Category: Unrelated (2007)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man, Songfic, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 13:30:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17183903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: Imogen has made the mistake of coming home early one Friday and surprising her boyfriend. She leaves, gets in her car and just drives...





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This work is an early experiment of mine, on two fronts: could I write within the confines of the Beatles' lyrics, and could I try out a bit of 'stream of consciousness'? I will leave it to the readers to decide.

**_I was alone, I took a ride, I didn’t know what I would find there_ **

**_Another road where maybe I could see another kind of life there…_ **

**_Ooh, then I suddenly see you,_ **

**_Ooh, did I tell you I need you every single day of my life?_ **

****

Just get in the car and drive.

Top down, let the wind blast that fucker out of your head. Music on loud as shit too. Roar through villages, scattering ducks and scaring children and walkers in the simmering heat of this cricket-thrumming, cricket match summer evening.

Blast away the image. Him. Her. That smirk.

_Fucking wanker. Why did I ever bother with that shitty arsehole?_

The eternal mystery; beautiful women and arseholes. What IS the attraction? Discuss.

Ten miles later and no memory of the drive. Stop before you kill yourself or someone else. A pub, music booming. This will do.  Car park almost full, the sounds of giggles and shouts. Young voices, younger than you, but it doesn’t matter. Dance.  Dance him away, the memory of him. Of the lies and the waste of another two years. Let the bass grind him into the floor.

Crowded bar, noisy and happy and shouting and laughing. Youthful bodies, skin on show, slim girls clinging to grinning boys. You don’t belong but you don’t care, you need a shot of this to clear your head. Push your way to the bar. One drink, you just need one. Then drive home. Cheap perfume and cologne, sweat and freshly laundered cotton; the fragrance of student parties. Command the barman with a look, get a beer and get away.

And suddenly.

A flash of blonde curls, a long back. A tight arse. Your cunt clenches. Now, I need THAT. He turns and your eyes meet. You must have him. He is beautiful. And looking at you the same way you are looking at him. He smiles. He knows you want him. He shifts, fidgets, and you know. He wants you.   Music starts again, a song you can dance to. You start, still looking. He nudges his friend.

Lose yourself in the music. That boy is too young for you, Immo.

Just dance.

You let it go. Shut your eyes, move your body and just dance. The bass booms up through you and you let it all go. All the anger, you drive it out of your head with screaming voices and yelling guitars. And dancing, and hips and legs and arms and hands.

He is watching you. Tongue on his lips, eyes fixed, his face pinker. You see it and you are wet. He wants you.

Close your eyes, spin and rock your hips. Return into the music, let it inside. Let it be you. Entice this boy, make him drool. Forget the image in your head of them. Of him on her. Fucker.

Then other hands, caressing, touching. And other hips grinding. Turn your head. It’s him, of course. And he wants you. You feel it. He makes sure you feel it.

The song changes to something slower and you press yourself against him, reaching up and stroking his curls. Lips are on your neck, then a tongue. Hot breath on your skin, making it tingle. Hands tighter on your waist, pulling you into his gravity.

He wants you.

You turn. Arms gather you in. he smells divine. Soap and smoke and beer. Those lips on yours now, and that tongue searching. A hand on your arse and you want him RIGHT NOW.

‘Car.’

Push through the crowd, out into the too-bright evening sun. He gets in, eyes on you. Drive home. His breathing. Smiles and touches. No words. Past the same village greens and ducks. Your street like a hundred others, your house like a thousand.  Open the door, throw your keys down, grab those curls.

‘Fuck me.’

Lips and tongues take up the dance. Hands searching, fingers pulling and pressing. Breath and scent mixing and no thinking, No more thinking. No remembering why you are doing this. Just be here, feeling this, him, on you. In you.

Filling you, oh god, filling you and driving that fucker out of you with every thrust, and it’s coming, Beautiful blue eyes eating you, hands devouring you. Lips burning you. You welcome it, that moment of death, that ultimate mindlessness.

This boy, he needs you. He sees you. He wants YOU. Not like _him._

Hearts pounding, breaths ragged.

‘Fuck!’

Hold tight as he jerks and fills you more. Hold him and smell him and feel him. And nothing else but this.

A laugh and blue, blue eyes.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Imogen. Yours?’

‘Oakley.’

_(Got To Get You Into My Life: Revolver)_

 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good Day Sunshine…  
> I need to laugh, and when the sun is out  
> I’ve got something I can laugh about  
> I feel good in a special way,  
> I’m in love and it’s a sunny day

Heat on your face. A finger of sun through the blinds, that’s it. What time is it? Saturday. Doesn’t matter.

_God he smells good. Feels good. I feel good. Sore, but good._

Then you remember. Him. and her. And why you ran and drove to somewhere. Nowhere. Anywhere. And found him. Oakley.

Eyes open and look at him. Cherub. A halo of curls on the pillow. Asleep he looks 12. How old is he? A stab of guilt. He is so young. You used him. Used him to fuck the anger out, the pain, the betrayal. Found a man who wanted you, unlike the one you had.

Maybe you are a whore, like Gerry said.

Stirring limbs and you wait for his reaction. You are new to this, not used to waking with a boy beside you. A boy who fucks like a man. But a boy. You are a woman, old enough to know better. The fury and the pain chased your judgement away for a while, but now?

The usual Saturday sounds outside but in here it’s not usual. Not at all. He smiles and you want him again. Sleepy and smelling of sex. You want him even more.

‘Good morning.’

A hand on your thigh and he wants you. Eyes dark he pulls you in. Hands and lips and tongue and you dive into the sensations, anything to take away the guilt and the anger trying to return.

‘You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.’

‘Am I? Not that sexy, surely, just more…experienced?’

‘No.’ Hands are on you, lips following, breath hot and burning, making you shiver under his touch. ‘The sexiest. When I saw you dancing, I had to have you.’

He is on you, mouth on your melting core, driving all the feelings out with soft wetness and firm probing, raising you up and out and up to the ceiling. How can this boy, this angel know you so well, know you better than the man you threw two years of your life away on? Know what you need, how to give it, to drive you over the edge.

Oakley knows you need him in you, grinding away the pain, and he is, growling your name and loving you, loving away the hate you were filled with when you got in the car last night. When you left his flat in a haze of humiliation, tears burning your face as you ran. Ran to get away from the image of him. your man and your friend and skin and fucking and how long and who are these people? This is real, this hard flesh and soft skin over hardness inside you and this is all you want to feel ever. And he knows.

Long arms around you, tanned and firm holding you safe. Protecting from the cruelty of reality. But it can’t last. You have to be the adult now. No more using him. Not fair, not responsible, not the act of a HR professional.

‘Should you be somewhere, Oakley? Fuck, where do you live?’

A wicked chuckle. ‘Not far. No, I’m OK. Nowhere to be. Except here.’ Waggling eyebrows and a hand on your sex.

Warm tiles in the kitchen, warm hands on your waist. Wanting to be cool, needing to touch him, taste him.

‘I need to shop, Oakley.’

‘I’ll come, help, carry.’

Shopping at the supermarket was never like this. He watches you, looks at you. People notice. You see them talking, nudging. He is young, you are not. But he touches you. Chastely but with a familiarity which tells them he was in your bed last night. Will someone you know see you? Will Gerry hear?

_I hope so._

Back at your house and the neighbours are looking. And you don’t know whether you care or not. He looks so young. Then his arm brushes yours and you want him. And you no longer care what anyone thinks.

Drinks in the garden, hot sun on the stones and hot hands on you. Summer Saturdays, freshly cut lawn and barbecue and children squealing and dogs barking.

Will you stay now? You kept this house to be near Gerry, but commuting is killing your soul. But this boy.

_There is no future for us. He is too young. You need to move on and maybe move house too._

Watching you thinking, he smiles. His eyes on your body, your legs, your hair. And that twinge at the thought of him leaving, of having to be in that bed alone. With the memory of what you saw.

Not that he shows any sign of leaving.

‘Isn’t someone missing you, Oakley?’

‘I doubt it.’

The mask of cheek drops. Sad, lost. Just for a split-second. And that makes your cunt clench again. He is staying.

_(Good Day Sunshine: Revolver)_


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some kind of innocence is measured out in years…  
> …You can talk to me, you can talk to me  
> You can talk to me, if you’re lonely you can talk to me.

Back to the grind. Hot sticky grumpy people, jostling. Train pulls in and everyone for themselves. No danger of a seat, find a hole by the door, music, pretend you can’t smell the man next to you.

_Why can’t people use deodorant? Or detergent?_

Eyes shut, remember the bed this morning, Monday blues worse than usual. Sunshine on the sheets. Beautiful boy, had to leave him, pay the bills, do your job. But without him memories flood over. Walking in on them. Bare skin and heaving and laughing and seeing you and not stopping. Not even embarrassed.

Two years of your life. Two years on a man like that. Ten on her, your friend/not friend. To be mocked.

Train lurching, bodies falling then stopping. Muttering and moans, sympathetic looks, rolling eyes. You need to move. To London. Nothing keeping you away now, nobody.

But.

This boy. This Oakley. He wants you, you want him. He needs… something.

Hit the city, walking fast. Get to your desk, get going. Drown all the thoughts in work and email and coffee. Hours eaten up by petty things and ignore the ruins of your life.

But this boy.

Close your eyes and see his neck, arching. Feel him inside you, pounding, oh god, ploughing into you, so strong, so fast and he never stops and you want that forever because when he does that you forget.

Forget that life you had in your head. A future with Gerry, stretching out ahead and now it’s a smoking wreck. Broken on the reef of your friend/not friend.  

But it was never real.

Look at your phone. Text from Gerry. Delete. Block caller, not another second for that man, not a moment wasted ever again.

But Oakley. How can you help him? Lost boy.

It’s too hot for London. Leave early. A risk. Leaving early Friday got you to this. But you have to see him. Music in your ears and thinking, feeling, remembering his hands on you. Pulling and touching and holding and all the things he knew you needed and bothered to give you. Wanted to give you.  You need to touch him, feel him, taste him.

Be rational. This must stop soon. You are 35. He is 22. You are a cliché.

Look for a flat near work. No more commuting it is destroying you. Disappear into the city and live.

But this boy.

Needs a job, something. One he will like. _That_ is what you can do for him. To repay the debt. Use your contacts, your friends, your knowledge. Hold his hand, lead him through the jungle and put him in a good seat.  Close your eyes, think.

Remember only the smell and the feel of him, taking you, in the kitchen, the sitting room, in the garden in the dark. Driving out the bad, the hate, the fear, the grief. Filling you with himself, his wonderful, wicked, joyful, sad, uninhibited self.

Hot garden, cold drinks and he is there. Just him, waiting just for you.  Nobody else in your place, nobody else taking him away, like her. Your friend/not friend.  His smile and his warm body and you can forget. Nothing else exists except him and his tongue and his cock and you want nothing more.

He holds you and takes you away from that ruined future. That loss. That nothing that stretches out in front of you now. Vast emptiness. No family, no children, no hope. Filling that space that nothingness with his cock and his love and his laughter and never stop don’t stop please don’t.

Bare skin and the fan makes goose bumps in the bedroom. Shivers of pleasure and ice cubes and playing and never stop don’t stop. Young again with him. None of that no pain no work no worries. Just this boy and his mouth and never stop don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

But this is not real. This cannot continue. He needs you in other ways, ways you understand but he doesn’t.

‘What do you want to be, Oakley?’

‘To be?’

‘In life. What do you want?’

Blue eyes distant, frowning, thinking. He has no idea.

‘I know what I _don’t_ want. I don’t want my dad’s life. I don’t want to be like him.’

Smile. Think. He can do anything, he has a brain. And charm, and looks.  He will be easy to place. Tomorrow you start.

A project.

A job for Oakley.

_(Hey Bulldog: Yellow Submarine)_


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of these years I’ve been wandering around  
> Wondering how come nobody told me  
> All that I’ve been looking for was somebody who looked like you…

‘Suzie? It’s Imogen. Do you have time for lunch today?’

Networking. Your forte. This you can do. Find him something, give him a life. A start a foot in the door. This boy. This boy who has saved you. Save him back. Repay him for stopping you from whatever you might have done that night. Killing yourself, crashing the car, something anything to take away the pain. To kill the images in your brain. He was there and he saw you and he wanted you and you wanted him but it’s more.

You know it’s more because you see it. He loves you. You see it. His eyes that shine when he sees you.  His touch which is gentle but strong and you don’t know how you feel because you think you love him but he’s too young too young. Lips and tongues and bodies together and when you are apart you ache to feel him again but you’re too old for him. Too old to feel like this like a girl again. And the sex is so good oh so very good but you can’t hurt him and you will hurt him so do this instead.

‘There is something coming up I think. Send me his CV, I’ll look.’

_I can’t tell her I love him._

But do you love him? You want him and when you look at those eyes those blue blue eyes so sad and lost and loving you and he needs you and you used him and you are wrong but you can’t stop can’t stop won’t stop. So you pull him to you and you let him love you and the summer is passing and there is nothing you want to do more. Nowhere else to be because when you look in his eyes you forget your own name and Gerry and the time and the pain you wasted on him are gone far away.

‘Oakley, do you fancy a job? In London? In PR?’

‘Maybe.’

A puzzled look.

‘I may have found one for you. If you want it. You could try for it anyway.’

His face looks different. He had no hope now he has some, is that what it is? He needs a future and you can help him this is your profession you can do this for him. He will be good he can read people he understands and he can do this but he has to look the part.

Find him a suit and the right shirts and he sulks and you feel like his mother and where is she? He hates his father but where is his mother is that what you are just a substitute? But no he wants you and he teases and those eyes are on you and yours on him he looks great in a suit and you want him now right here in the changing room but behave.

But do you love him?

Friday just a week only a week since that night and the car and the pub and the dance and don’t remember what made you drive there and here you are on the train with him. And he holds you tight when the train sways. You feel him and you want him and let’s go in the toilet and you have to behave you are the professional. People look.  He is beautiful and you are older and they look and they smile and women look and want him but he’s yours get away.

_Mine._

In your head he is yours.

But it’s wrong he’s too young so young but you can’t think of living without him but this is your world now the city and there are flats to view and he has to behave and so do you. He must wait while you work and he sulks and you worry.  Text him is he there and you are not his mother nor his friend nor his wife but you want to be sure he is there. What are you?

‘Suzie? Well, how was he? What do you think?’

‘Immo, are you fucking him?’

_How did she guess?_

She knew how did she because she’s your friend a real friend not like your friend/not friend who fucked Gerry in front of you smiling. What do you say you can’t lie she will know and so you say yes and she laughs and says

_good for you_

and you know he has got the job and all is well. He is happy so joyful he doesn’t  know success well he has felt like a disappointment for so long he forgot he can win and he’s giddy with it.

_Look at the flats with me darling we will choose one together._

You can’t live with him can you but you don’t want to lose him he’s too young too young. You have to think do you love him is this good for you or him do you love him? But his eyes and his hands and his mouth and when he looks at you when he touches you none of that matters because it is good so good. And you talk and you laugh it is not just the sex but the sex is so good oh god it’s so good. And he loves you he tells you that night and you hold him and he cries because he needs you and you know this must stop can’t stop I can’t stop won’t stop.

And you found the flat you need and you know he can come with you and this can carry on no it can’t. Just a little bit longer let him learn to fly on his own it will be fine and he loves you do you love him yes you do.

You love him.

 

_(I’ve Got a Feeling: Let It Be)_


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well I gave you everything I had,  
> But you left me sitting on my own,  
> Did you have to treat me oh so bad?  
> All I do is hang my head and moan…  
> Tell me why you cried…

Drifting up and he is there with you and there is time no commute just a short ride and this is the life. Strong arms and lips and hips and sleepy love and you love him. Skin touching and moving and holding and pressing and softness and hardness and go to work on a fuck. And this is life now, work and love and laughter and better than before that night. That night when he saved you.

But your saviour is so young too young.  So young and you love him so much it hurts and you ache when you can’t see him or touch him. He is happy and you are happy with him but people are talking and that hurts too. Gerry is talking about you and Oakley and you are a whore and he is a toyboy and friends aren’t sure and you feel alone apart from him.

He loves you and he’s happy and the job is good and he is good at it you knew he would be but people. Jealous nasty angry tired bored people who hate you and kind people who love you but they don’t understand how he saved you. That he caught you when you fell and without him you might be dead and it’s so hard to see how this will stop.  He laughs and he flirts with the girls he meets and you love him but he saves the secret smiles for you and his eyes look so special when he sees you. Only you. You trust him but this is too hard and you don’t want to hurt him but it’s so hard too hard can’t stop.

You love him.

_It was only supposed to be a quick fuck. Just to clear my head of that vile sight. Christ, it was only supposed to be a fast drive, until I saw the pub. Then it was just a drink and then I saw him. And now he is my everything._

An email and it cuts to the quick. An old friend she says people are laughing and saying he is using you and you know no it’s you using him and it’s so hard he’s so young and he loves you and you have to stop can’t stop won’t stop. And work. Whispers and silence when you come in the room and people jealous people narrow minds cold hearts. Can’t they see you are happy but they don’t care and it’s harming your job. And soon it will hurt his.

Drinks after and you wait with your real friend Suzie who loves you she does understand the only one. You tell her and you cry and he sees you and you can’t tell him why. Pain in his eyes when he sees yours and you can’t tell him why and you don’t know what to do.

You love him.

You can’t tell him, he won’t leave you then and he must leave. He needs to leave but it will kill you but he must but you can’t stop. It hurts so much you cry more and he is angry because you won’t say and you cry more and he walks away before he shouts. And it’s a bar with people you know and you want to run and hold him but that would be worse he is angry and you look desperate.

But you love him.

And you look and he is alone with his drink staring at the floor the pain in his face is an open wound you can’t bear it you go to him. He holds you and loves you and you tell him everything. And he won’t leave he can’t leave you are his everything his life now and it is good and he is happy for the first time. He cries too he holds you and looks in your eyes his eyes blue blue eyes that love you that need you. His lips on your face his breath on your eyelids and you breathe him in and he whispers.

‘Do you love me?’

‘You know I do Oakley’

‘Then marry me, Imogen. That’ll shut them up.’

You kiss him and hold him and laughing crying tears on your faces and running and dancing and staring people and you don’t care because you will marry him.

That life you thought you had the kids to come the house the garden with Gerry all fake. This is real.

A flat in the city and a man in your bed who loves you puts you first nothing else matters nobody else. You worship his beauty his neck and his back and when you lick him he moans and you love him. He holds you and loves you and fills you with his love and his joy and you know that nothing else matters. The wedding is coming you tell people and they laugh and you smile in their faces because you have him your bed and in you. You forget that they hurt you and it doesn’t hurt anymore. People who love you see the joy the happiness the hope and they smile and that is good but what matters is him.

_He is what matters to me._

Silk dress and paperwork and flowers and cake real friend Suzie helps. The day dawns sunshine and confetti and flashes people cheering and his father is angry but he came anyway. His friends like you and you like them too he is happy you make him happy he was never happy before they see that. Fizzy wine and smiles and tears and real friends and family just a few who care. Really care.

Now you see it.

You left early that day so you could see Gerry and your friend/not friend _don’t say her name_ _she smiled_. So you could get in your car drive see the pub hear the music see him. So he could save you.

He saved you so you could save him and then you could save each other. He is young but so are you young again in his arms he gathers you up and nothing else matters when his mouth makes you sing and his body lifts you to the sky and he fills you so good oh so good and this is why. Why you live now.

Why you ever lived.

This boy.

This Oakley.

Your Oakley.

 

**_All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free_ **

_(Tell Me Why: A Hard Day’s Night/ Blackbird: The Beatles)_


End file.
